


Christmas With Mama B

by loves_books



Series: Mama B [4]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mama B - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: This isn’t going to be the Christmas she’d planned, but she’s determined that it will still be the most wonderful time of the year for all of them, even if it is in a slightly unusual way.
Relationships: Templeton "Faceman" Peck/John "Hannibal" Smith
Series: Mama B [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/52070
Comments: 18
Kudos: 22





	Christmas With Mama B

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know this is more than a month late, but better late than never, right?!   
> LB x

This isn’t going to be the Christmas she’d planned, but she’s determined that it will still be the most wonderful time of the year for all of them, even if it is in a slightly unusual way. 

She’d been so excited when her son Bosco, her darling Scooter, had first called her a few days before Thanksgiving, apologising again that they’d miss the holiday but letting her know it was almost certain that they’d be home in the States for Christmas. He’d wondered if they could come to visit her? All four of them? Only if she didn’t mind. Only if she thought it wouldn’t be too much work for her.

Of course she’d said yes. And of course she’d tried hard not to get her hopes up, knowing that plans could change in a heartbeat. Last minute deployments, important and highly classified missions, transport difficulties… She’s been the mother of a serving soldier for too long not to know that making any definite plans was the one thing sure to ruin those plans.

Still, she’s only human. Of course she’d made plans.

There are family traditions that she and her son have always held dear. And she’s known her son’s three teammates – her three _adopted_ sons – long enough to make a good guess at the sorts of things they might like to do over Christmas, too. Games, certainly, and lots of good food. Murdock would want to help her in the kitchen, Face would want to go to midnight mass, and Hannibal would want a fine bottle of whiskey or two. 

For all three of them, and for Scooter too, a big family Christmas together would be the most special thing, something none of them had experienced much in recent years. Life in the Rangers meant missing holidays and birthdays and anniversaries, and it was little wonder that the four of them had become their own little family. The thought sometimes makes her sad, but then she always rallies, knowing that they can come home to her whenever they’re able, and that she can fill that gap for them, along with her sister and her nephews and nieces, and all their extended family who will be in and out of her home all over the Christmas period.

But then, ten days before Christmas, she’d had another call. It was from Murdock, surprisingly, rather than from Scooter or Hannibal, and she could hear the barely contained fear in his voice even over the static-filled line from the base in Germany.

No details, of course. Not about the mission they’d been out on. Not about who or what they’d been fighting. Only that there had been a mission, and that there had been injuries. 

Hannibal had taken two bullets to his left shoulder, one a clean through-and-through and one that had lodged just beneath his collarbone, requiring surgery. Murdock himself apparently had a mild concussion and a black eye, though of course she suspected he was hiding something more, while he’d been quick to reassure her that her son was fine, just busily occupied with trying to keep Hannibal in his own bed rather than going to Face. Face, who had taken a single bullet to the stomach, nearly bleeding out before his team had managed to get him to safety. 

She’d wept when she’d hung up the phone after talking to the Captain. Wept for her boys, of course, injured in the line of duty once more. Wept for herself, a little, angry at having made plans when she knew she shouldn’t have risked it. She’d even wondered for a brief moment if she could fly out to Germany, to be with them all anyway, but then immediately dismissed the idea, knowing they wouldn’t want her fussing over them in front of their military colleagues. Even at Christmas.

She’d squared her shoulders, resigned herself to another holiday season without the boys, and told herself there was always next year. The important thing was that they were alive.

But then, plans had changed yet again. She’d spoken to them every day, of course, to Scooter and Hannibal and Murdock, though not yet to Face, who was apparently high as a kite on painkillers and sick to his wounded stomach on antibiotics. Five days before Christmas, Hannibal had been the one to tell her, relief and delight clear in his deep voice: they were being released to fly back to the States. They’d be confined to the base or hopefully to Hannibal’s house, if Face was fit enough, but they’d be home for Christmas after all, and if she wanted…

Of course she’d wanted. She’d booked her flight the moment she’d hung up the phone, flying down to Georgia the very next day and letting herself into the house her four boys shared just outside Fort Benning, using the spare key she’d never honestly expected to need. Hannibal had always insisted she keep one, pressing it into her hands years ago just in case of emergencies, and she’d never been more glad of the Colonel’s obsession for planning three steps ahead.

Their house had been a little musty after being closed up for nearly two months, but she’d busied herself flinging open the windows and cleaning and polishing, calling a local gardening service to mow the yard and a window cleaner to make the glass sparkle. She hadn’t touched the bedrooms, of course, not the master bedroom Hannibal and Face shared nor the two singles Murdock and BA had, completely respecting her boys’ privacy. But she had ventured cautiously into the garage, finding the crates labelled ‘Christmas’ tucked away at the very back.

The crates had clearly been packed with military precision, each one labelled and complete with a contents list taped to the lid – she shouldn’t have been surprised, of course, not knowing these four men the way she does. Still, it had made her smile, and it had made things easy. She hadn’t gone completely over the top, knowing her boys would be exhausted and hurting, but she’d decorated each room a little, taking up a surprising and kind offer from one of Face’s contacts who had brought a team to put up all the outside decorations and bought a tree.

She’d been a little surprised by just how many decorations the team owned, given that they were rarely in the States for Christmas, and how crazy some of them were (there was a dancing Cactus two metres tall, wearing a Santa hat…) but then she remembered that the team consisted of Murdock, who was actually crazy, and Face, who was more than a little crazy himself, and Hannibal, who had his crazy moments, and her Bosco, who she loved more than life itself but who, she would have to admit, had a crazy streak a mile wide.

Not for the first time, she wondered if perhaps that was why they all fitted together so well.

Face’s contacts – her boys’ good friends, more accurately – had helped her with the shopping, too, once word had got around that she was staying in Hannibal’s spare room waiting for the team to return. Soon the fridge was full, and there were presents under the tree, and the only things really missing had been the four men still in Germany.

She’d spent the last day baking, a nervous habit as well as one she knew her boys would appreciate, and then, finally, the day had come. Today. Christmas Eve, to be more precise. And as much as she’d wanted badly to be on base when they landed, once again she managed to restrain herself. She knew they’d be whisked straight away to see the doctors, who would decide if Face and Hannibal were fit to be released.

She harbours a sneaky suspicion that the stubborn rangers will refuse to stay in the hospital even if they _are_ ordered to.

It would be a different kind of Christmas again if any of the team are confined to a hospital bed, but at least they’ll be home. At least she can be with them, and coddle them as much as they’ll allow. 

Scooter had called her the moment they’d landed, of course; he’d sounded a little dopey to her knowing ears, from the tranquilizers she knew he’d taken just to get himself on the plane. He hadn’t been able to talk for long, just had to let her know that they were there, then he’d been gone again.

She’s been waiting at the front door ever since, butterflies in her stomach and heart in her throat. She’s excited and nervous at the very same time, jumping every time someone drives by, and it really does feel like she’s a kid waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve. 

Eventually, a strange car turns slowly into the street, and she knows immediately that it must be them, throwing Hannibal’s front door open and stepping out into the yard. It’s barely half five but already the night is closing around them as the blue four-by-four pulls up in front of the house, and she can see four very familiar silhouettes inside.

She longs to hurry to them, but she restrains herself to another single step forwards before stopping, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself and folding her arms across her chest. She takes a long slow breath in and releases it slowly, tears prickling her eyes though she refuses to let them fall.

They’re home. Finally.

She whispers a brief prayer of thanks as her son, her darling boy, opens the car door and steps out from behind the wheel. His dark eyes find hers immediately, and he nods, smiles, before moving quickly to open the passenger door behind. 

She bites her lip, waiting, watching as Murdock climbs out from the front passenger seat. He waves immediately to her when he sees her, a wild yet still restrained little thing that makes her long to run to him, to soothe the nasty black eye she can see, but he also turns to the other door, and she can’t help but gasp when she sees Hannibal.

She sees the sling first, an enormous complicated contraption that keeps his left arm tight against his chest. Murdock fusses over him as the tall Colonel unfolds himself slowly from the car, batting away the hovering hands and clearly muttering what she’s sure must be curse words under his breath.

He’s not fine, but he’s still fighting, still full of that strong spirit that always amazes her so much. Still possibly the most stubborn man she has ever known. 

The second-most stubborn man is still in the car.

She can’t see well in the dimming light, but her boy, her Scooter, is kneeling down in front of the other open door. She knows who is in there. She knows the injuries he’s suffered. She wants to go to them, wants to help, but she also knows her help won’t be welcome. Not yet.

Finally, her son stands and brings another man up with him, a shaky, visibly weak figure, one who immediately drops his head to rest against her boy’s strong shoulder even as Scooter wraps careful arms around the shivering body.

It worries her a little that Face isn’t strong enough to refuse the help his brother offers, though he’s clearly fighting to stay on his own two feet. The fact that the hospital released him at all… She watches on, biting her lip, as Hannibal limps around the car to Face’s side, and Face reaches out for him. 

Hannibal takes the reaching hand in his own and supports his partner as well as he can as Scooter turns them all towards the house, Murdock fluttering around them as if wanting to help but unsure how.

Still she waits, waits, waits, as the four men move slowly around the car and finally step into the yard, and it’s only then that they all stop as one, four sets of eyes opening wide and four mouths dropping open in shock as they actually look properly at the house for the first time.

At the Christmas lights in the windows, and around the edges of the roof, flashing brightly in a rainbow of colours. 

At the inflatable reindeer and sleigh on the roof, complete with waving Santa.

At the huge wreath hanging on the front door, full of holly and berries and twinkling lights.

At that hideous dancing Cactus, standing taller than even Hannibal in the middle of the yard.

At the fact that it’s really, truly Christmas, and they are really, truly home.

And finally she lets herself smile, seeing the matching smiles spreading across the faces of her four exhausted, injured boys, Scooter still supporting Face with one arm looped over his shoulders, Face’s free hand clutched in Hannibal’s one good hand, and Murdock hovering by Hannibal’s side close to that enormous sling.

She steps forward at last, ready to hug them gently and kiss them and get them into the warm house just as soon as she can, where she can fuss over them all and coddle them and feed them up, and make sure these stubborn boys take their painkillers.

And there will be presents and there will be turkey, and she can hardly wait to see the look on their faces when they see the enormous Christmas tree for the first time, taking up a good quarter of their living room.

No, it won’t be the Christmas she’d planned, and she knows it certainly isn’t the Christmas the four men had hoped for, but they are together, and they are alive, and she wouldn’t change this moment for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt by Spot_On60, who suggested 'Christmas with Mama B, no dialogue'. How could I possibly refuse such a lovely suggestion? Thanks for the idea! x


End file.
